


The Art of Forgiveness

by liebegott



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Band Of Brothers - Freeform, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Forgiveness, Growth, HBO War - Freeform, Love, Sadness, World War II, World War Two
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:08:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26121673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liebegott/pseuds/liebegott
Summary: Natalya Schultz was 15 when President von Hindenburg had died, followed by the rule of Adolf Hitler. Since the end of the Great War, and Germany's surrender, she would never have expected that her life would also be entangled with bombs and artillery. But now, as she was trapped in a cell with 3 other students, her hope in her motherland, her faith in her leader, and her loyalty to her family, were being tested.Joseph Liebgott enlisted in the Paratroopers just a few days after Pearl Harbor was bombed by the Japanese. He had never expected to be falling from the sky over the greenlands of France, into combat with only his training, his rifle, and the prayers against his lips to keep him safe. But now, as he watched over a group of German students from the Nazi's most elite nursing school, his self-control and his morals were being tested.Two sides of the same coin: Everything they thought they had known about the war, the enemy, and themselves would change forever.
Relationships: Joseph Liebgott & Edward Tipper, Joseph Liebgott & Shifty Powers, Joseph Liebgott & Skinny Sisk, Joseph Liebgott/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 22





	1. Epigraph.

_You fell in love with a storm._

_Did you really think you_

_would get out unscathed?_

**_\- Nikita Gill_ **


	2. Death.

**NATALYA SCHULTZ** gripped onto the straps of her bag as she walked home from school with her best friend, Eva Reinhardt. They walked through their small town, with only a few hundred inhabitants, the air growing cold around them. The trees were turning orange, some falling towards the ground, but as beautiful as the sky and everything up above was, down below it was different. As leaves touched the ground, Natalya's eyes would trail towards dirty, bruised feet connected to bodies begging for spare change.

This was the reality in Germany, 1934. Since the ending of the Great War, with Germany's surrender, the whole country was an economic minefield. The poor kept dying, and the rich kept getting richer. The latter could be said for her best friend, who now chattered on about something Natalya failed to pay attention to.

"Sorry, what?" she said, asking her dear friend to repeat the last 30 minutes of conversation.

Eva crossed her arms and jut out her bottom lip, "I was telling you about Adolf Hitler, our Chancellor."

Almost everyone knew him, and everyone liked him. Natalya wasn't sure where she stood yet. "Oh, I know him," the young girl replied, shivering slightly, "My papa calls him a radical."

Her friend rolled her eyes, raising both hands in mock surrender, "Get your head out of the books and listen to the news, Naty. Germany is changing!"

As they walked passed a bridge overlooking the lake, Natalya leaned towards the edge and peeked down below. _Germany is changing?_ she thought to herself, seeing the people huddled under the bridge, trying to keep warm, _It doesn't feel like it's much different._

"My papa likes him," Eva announced to no one in particular, looking extra smug. Of course Herr Reinhardt liked him, Natalya believed it was his job as the richest man in their town to suck up to anybody with power. "In fact, I think I'm going to see him soon. He's coming to visit."

Natalya didn't say anything, watching as a woman under the bridge tried to breastfeed her baby. The baby's cries grew louder, having realised he had nothing to suck out, and Natalya pulled her best friend by the arm towards the stairs leading towards the bottom of the bridge. Eva grunted, trying to pull free from her friend's grasp, but gave in and followed her down.

"Ew," she whispered, holding her backpack to her chest, but Natalya ignored her, "What are you doing?"

Taking out the untouched lunch her mother had packed her, she emptied the contents onto the mother's plate. "For you," Natalya whispered, and she heard Eva tapping her foot behind her. The mother thanked her profusely, bowing so low in thanks, her head almost touched Natalya's shoes.

Eva made an exasperated sound and quickly pulled her away from the scene, bringing them to the top of the bridge. "Are you done being the Virgin Mary?" she grumbled, and Natalya watched as the mother waved to her from down below.

"It's really different," Natalya whispered, her eyes sad, "Up here and down there."

Her best friend rolled her eyes for the thousandth time that day. "Yeah, so what? Chancellor Hitler has plans to change anything," she twirled her hair with her finger, "Come on, it's cold."

As they continued their walk, Natalya remained skeptical. _How would one man change years worth of struggle?_ It seemed impossible. Reaching the Reinhardt's house, much bigger than everyone else's, with a large gate hiding the entire property, Natalya wondered if her best friend had ever experienced hardship. _Probably not,_ she thought to herself, _With how quickly she brushes the poor away._

"Hey, Eva," she suddenly said, what she was about also surprising herself, "Would you tell me what he's like? If you do meet him."

Eva smirked, waving a hand as she entered the large iron gates. "Of course, Naty. Everyone's going to be so jealous."

Natalya wasn't so sure of that.

———

Placing her bag on the floor, Natalya kicked off her shoes and put on her slippers. They were light pink, and her mother had made them for her birthday. To the right were family pictures all hung up on the wall, and Natalya stopped to look at one of her and her older brother Oskar.

Though he was only three years older than she, he acted like he was born the century before and bossed her around far more than her parents did. Despite that, he was her brother, and she loved him dearly. They didn't really look like siblings– He had their mother's blond hair and light grey eyes, while she had her father's dark hair and blue eyes. But they both had a distinct feature, a spray of freckles across their cheeks and dimples that came out whenever they smiled.

Natalya spotted her mother in the kitchen, her back turned, hunched over a stove. She was preparing dinner. "Mama," she greeted, a smile on her face. Her mother had a floral apron tied around her waist, her hair brought up in a mess of curls. "Is Oskar home yet?"

"Not yet," she replied, kissing Natalya on the head and glancing at the clock, "You took longer than usual today. Did something happen in school?"

Natalya shook her head, "No, just an extra talkative Eva."

"What was she bragging about now?" Her mother knew everything about her best friend just because Eva never knew when to stop talking. But the two girls had grown up together, and weren't friends forged through time? "And can you help set the table please?"

"She's meeting Chancellor Hitler," Natalya replied, washing her hands, not noticing that her mother had grown quiet, "He's going to stay with the Reinhardt's when he visits."

As she set the table, she peeked at the pot her mother was mixing- Sauerbraten. They were going to have beef stew for dinner. They had beef stew almost every night.

The Schultz family was quite familiar with the hard times Germany was facing. Her father had fought in the war as a young man, and moved away to the country in order to get away from it all. Now working as an automobile mechanic, the family was comfortable, but still had to work hard to bring food to the table.

 _"Scheiße,"_ Natalya heard a voice curse, and a huge smile grew on her face, "Oops, I'm home." Oskar announced, stepping inside the kitchen. He saw the pot on the stove and made a face, sticking his tongue out at his sister.

"How was your day?" their mother asked him, as he placed his bag on the kitchen table, "And on the floor, please, we'll have dinner in a few minutes."

"Great," Oskar replied, pushing his bag on the floor, and it dropped with a thud, "Nico and I listened to a replay of Hitler's speech on the radio today." Their mother paused her mixing for a brief moment, so short only Natalya noticed. "Everything he says is the truth. We need to win back our country from the Jews." Natalya tensed and looked up at her mother who stopped cooking completely.

"Enough of that, Oskar," she reprimanded, wiping her hands on her apron, "We will not speak of that man in our house. Do you understand?"

Natalya could imagine her brother's normally kind face turn red, smoke coming out of his ears. "Why? Because he's right?" he argued, his voice slightly raised. This was the first time Natalya had seen him like this, and she wasn't sure if she liked it.

Her mother pursed her lips and crossed her arms, turning back towards the stove. "No," she replied, patiently, "Because I will not raise my children to hate."

Oskar spat on the ground, a look of surprise on his face at his own actions, and quickly turned to leave the room. "You are blind and foolish, mama," he said as he climbed up the stairs, "Don't listen to her, Naty. Our country before family itself."

Natalya was stunned. She turned to her mother who simply sighed and went back to her cooking.

———

Saying dinner was uncomfortable was an understatement. Neither Oskar nor their mother had said anything upon sitting down at their respective seats, and their father had no clue what had occurred just a few minutes before.

Their father had gotten home just as Oskar slammed his door shut. He was spared from hearing the commotion caused by the mention of just one man's name.

"How was school?" their father asked, taking a spoonful of the stew towards his lips. They did this every night- Ask each other about their days then turn on the radio to listen to the news.

"Nico and I listened to Hitler speak today," Oskar brought up again, his eyes glaring straight into their mother's. She looked away, looking down at the bowl in front of her. "We believe he'll bring change to Germany. We won't need to eat beef stew every night," he continued, his voice so filled with a new anger Natalya had never seen before.

"Eva said the same thing," she chimed in, trying to lighten the tension between her brother and her mother, only realising then what terrible input it was, "In fact, when he comes to visit, she says he'll be staying with them."

Oskar scoffed, kicking her under the dinner table. "What does Eva know? You're just children," he exclaimed, and she wondered what put him in such a foul mood that day.

"We're only three years apart, Oskar," she replied, bewildered at his response. Surely her friend wasn't lying to her. Maybe Eva was right- Maybe people would be jealous of her. "You're just jealous because you'll never get a chance to meet him," Natalya grinned, taking a bite of her stew.

Oskar stood, his finger pointing an accusatory finger at his sister. "Stop," their mother nearly shouts, slamming her hand on the dinner table, "We will not speak of politics during dinner. Is that clear?"

Oskar made a movement to say something, but, as if on cue, their father quickly stood, as though the small argument had never happened. He walked towards the radio that was placed on a side table beside some flowers. Twisting the knob gently, he brought his ear towards the machine, looking for the right channel.

"Breaking news," a static voice filled the dining room, and their father grinned, proud that he had found the channel earlier this time, "President von Hindenburg has passed away at the age of 86."

His smile fell, and he brought a hand over his mouth. "Adolf Hitler, our great nation's chancellor, will be taking his place as Führer of Germany," the voice finished, and the whole room fell silent as the national anthem played from the radio.

 _Leader._ Hitler was leader. Natalya looked up to see her brother, a sly smile on his face, staring at their mother. A feeling on unease settled over her, and she couldn't place why.

The room was silent, the only sound coming from her mother's fork dropping to the ground.


	3. Zealot.

**IT HAD** been one year since Hitler became Führer, sole leader of Germany.

Natalya was seated on the grass in her backyard, a German-translated version of _Murder at the Vicarage_ by Agatha Christie lay open on her lap. She had received it as a gift for her birthday, but only now had gotten around to reading it. One of the baby goats her family tended to lay by her feet, and the cool mountain air filled her lungs.

Though the book lay open, she hadn't even started reading. Natalya's mind was too preoccupied with the state of her country, something she was too ashamed to admit as everyone thought she couldn't care less about politics. Germany was already getting better- Hitler had delivered his promise, if not more. Less people lived under the bridge she passed by on her way home from school, and only a few begged on the streets. In fact, they stopped having beef stew for dinner.

Her mother had stated over dinner that night that he was taking the money from the Jews.

"It's because they took it from us first," Oskar snarled at her that night, spit flying across the table. Though their lives were getting better, Natalya was convinced he was getting worse. Her mother didn't respond, and continued eating the sausages they had bought earlier that day.

Natalya could hear them now, shouting their heads off back in the house. She realised then, that that was exactly why she was seated outside in the first place. She always found herself seated outside whenever they would start arguing. Though she never listened, she knew deep down her brother had stopped looking at their mother as a figure in need of respect. He called her foolish so often, Natalya was surprised their mother had never told him off. It was as though she had given up completely.

Their voices were growing louder, and Natalya heard something crash in the house. _Oskar had probably thrown something down in a fit again,_ she thought to herself. She pet the little goat by her legs, appreciating the flowers that were now in bloom, the grass turning a lovely shade of green. "It's quiet, isn't it, Schnucki?" Natalya whispered to the little goat, who's ears twitched at the sound of her voice, "Outside, there are no fights and no glasses breaking and no talk of Adolf Hitler."

Suddenly, she heard the front door slam shut, and Natalya stood, startling the goat that had dozed off. Peeking through the side of her house, she watched as Oskar angrily grabbed his bike, stared down at something, probably her mother, and peddled away as fast as his legs could take him. Normally, he would just slam his bedroom door and toss things around, but running away was a first.

Picking up her book from the grass, she gave the goat one last pet before entering through the backdoor that connected to the kitchen. Her mother was sitting at the dinner table, wiping at her eyes. "What happened, mama?" Natalya asked, sitting down right beside her, putting an arm around her crying mother.

Her mother shook her head, exhaling deeply. "I don't know what has happened to him, Naty," she whispered, wiping away her tears, "He's so angry. He has this belief that all our problems can be solved by just one man."

"That was what that was about?" she asked, a frown on her face, "A bit dramatic, don't you think?"

That earned a gentle laugh from her mother. Oskar was always dramatic. "No," she breathed, leaning back down on the chair, "He wants to enlist in the army, I said no. I said papa would say no. He called me the most foul things, and I just had enough."

 _The army?_ Natalya thought. She had heard that they were rebuilding the German Army, but never in a thousand years did she believe that anyone in her small town would try to join, let alone her older brother.

"He's too young," her mother said, her eyes tearing up once more, "No matter how he treats me, he's still my son. He just doesn't know anything yet. Oskar is convinced that we lost the Great War so he could have a shot to fight for his country."

She had no clue what to say. Natalya didn't want to admit this, but despite how bizarre her brother's words sounded in her mouth, there was a slice of truth between her mother's words.

———

Oskar had not returned home in time for dinner, and when asked where he was, her mother just shook her head and shrugged. Natalya was used to her mother protecting them, but it was a first to realise she had completely given up. She didn't know why, but it hurt her a bit.

They had tenderloins for dinner, and Oskar was not there to gloat about how good they were eating now. No matter how annoying it had gotten, and how worrisome his worshipping of Hitler had become, his presence was missed.

That night, Natalya lay in bed, trying to finish up homework that was due the next day. She had resigned to doing all her work at night, when it was quiet, and there was no fighting. Her lampshade cast an orange glow around her room, her beige bed sheets, pooling around her figure.

A knock came to her door, and Natalya looked up, her brother's head peeking through the door frame. "I got something to tell you," he said, a strange happiness dancing in his eyes.

"What?" she asked, sitting on the bed with her legs crossed. She silently prayed it wasn't what she thought it was. With a wave of her hand, she gestured for him to enter.

Oskar sat beside her on the bed, like they had done many times as children. But looking at him now, he definitely was no longer a child. Natalya furrowed her brows. "I enlisted," he admitted, and she felt the air leave her lungs, "The Wehrmacht."

Natalya sat up on her knees, pushing his shoulder with so much force, he nearly got knocked over. "What? Does mama know?" she exclaimed, crossing her arms.

"Why does she need to know?" Oskar's voice suddenly rose, his anger building up as it always did whenever someone questioned him, "She's crazy, and she's trying to make you as blind as she is! Papa is stupid and doesn't care about anything other than how our days were. I'm sick of living with pigs."

Natalya slumped back down on the bed, suddenly feeling very cold. The hair on the back of her neck stood, and she rubbed her nape to calm her down. Oskar never spoke of them that way, and the words that had just left his lips sounded nothing like the boy she grew up with.

"Tell me, Natalya," he said, his voice low enough to be a growl. He watched her through the sides of his eyes, his face dark, "Do you love your country?"

 _Of course I do,_ Natalya thought, _Despite everything that has happened, she was proud of her country._ She nodded, "I love my country, and I love you, Oskar, and papa and mama as well."

He scoffed, shaking his head. "Well, you don't act like you do. If you did, you would understand me. You're just blind, and crazy like your mother, thinking good deeds will solve anything," he spat, and Natalya had come to realise her brother was gone, replaced by a hateful monster.

Oskar quickly stood, leaving the room in a fit. As he slammed the door shut, the picture of their family that hung on the wall shook, nearly coming off of its hook.


	4. A Storm.

**THE SKY** was grey that afternoon, as though it knew what would occur that day in the living room of the Schultz' home. Natalya had run, completely soaked, her clothes clinging to her skin. The same day she decided to stay a bit later at school also happened to be one of the few days it rained in her town.

As the wet ground sploshed underneath her shoes, she sighed realising how muddy everything had become. But she didn't care, she needed to protect the books she had in her bag. Hugging her bag to her tightly, she ran as fast as she could, breathing a sigh of relief once she spotted their small home.

"Mama," she called, pulling open the door with such force she nearly knocked herself back. Lightning struck across the sky. "I'm wet!"

Her mother spotted her and rushed towards her, taking her bag from her and gesturing her to stay put. "Stefan," she called for her father, "Could you come bring a towel please? Naty is soaked." Her father responded with something unintelligible from upstairs, and soon bounded down the stairs with a dry towel.

As she dried herself off, picking up her shoes so she could wash off the mud in the backyard, Natalya passed by her mother who was taking out her now drenched books from her bag and hanging them on the chairs to dry. 

The storm was getting stronger now, wind tossing trees to and fro. It rarely stormed like this where she was from, and a heavy feeling grew in her chest.

The door swung open again, thunder striking a few kilometers away, emphasising the sound of the bang. Oskar stood, a hard look on his face. His clothes were also wet, but instead of waiting to dry, he walked in anyways, drenching the carpets with rain water.

"I enlisted in the Wehrmacht," he announced, and though it was the same news she had gotten the night before, saying it in front of their parents meant it was the real. It was happening. "I don't care what any of you do or say, I'm going."

Without drying off, Oskar headed upstairs, dragging his soaked bag behind him. He left a trail of water in his footsteps. Natalya had realised no one had moved. She couldn't hear the rain, the silence in the room deafening. They heard crashes upstairs, and all looked up towards the staircase, and just seconds later, Oskar came back down, fully changed with another bag filled with clothes.

"I'm leaving," he said, not waiting for a response. It had all happened so fast, and without argument from their parents. The front door slammed behind him. Natalya understood that he was no longer asking permission, but doing what he thought needed to be done.

She felt sick because, deep down, a part of her looked up at him for it.

Her father turned to them, his eyes glassy. With a shake of his head, he went into his office and shut the door behind him. He never cried, but Natalya thought she could hear him sobbing behind the thick wooden door..

"I'm going to cook dinner," her mother said softly, her voice cracking a bit, "I'll set the table. Go change." She forced a smile onto her face, mostly because Natalya was there. As she climbed the steps, she could see her mother hunched over the kitchen sink, her hands over her face.

———

Natalya tossed and turned all night, her head pounding.

Her mind was filled with thoughts of her brother- He hadn't come home for dinner yet again, and they didn't listen to the news that night. She held onto the hope that they would have dinner again as a family.

As she lay in bed, her mind wandered towards her mother, throwing herself into housework to distract her from the sounds of her father crying in the office. Only one could be weak at a time.

Natalya heard rustling downstairs, and she stiffened, her heart beating fast. As silent as she possibly could be, she slowly stood, picking up one of her heavier books. Heavy footsteps sounded throughout the house, and she glanced at the clock that read 2 in the morning. Sticking her head out the door, then slowly creeping towards the top of the staircase, Natalya crouched.

Her father stood near the entrance of the house, facing the wall that hung their childhood pictures. His shoulders were hunched, and this was the first time she had ever seen her father look so defeated. Natalya wanted to leave, but she was too entranced by her father's actions.

He pulled off one of the pictures on the wall, one of Natalya and Oskar as children, and brought it to his chest, his shoulders shaking. He was crying again. And just as he had appeared, he retreated back into his office, the picture still pressed against his chest.

———

Her head hurt, the room tilting every time Natalya opened her eyes. The throbbing in her head growing stronger with each small movement, she drummed up the strength to call for her mother.

Her mother came rushing in, worry plastered all over her face. She was still wiping her wet hands on her apron, so she had come from the kitchen. "What's wrong, dear?" her mother asked, placing a damp hand on Natalya's forehead. The hand was cold, and it relieved the throbbing in her head for a brief moment. "You're burning up, Natalya," her mother frowned, lifting the young girl onto her lap for a hug, "You stay home today. I'll ring up Eva's mother to ask for homework and what else you might miss."

"Mama," Natalya croaked, her voice hoarse, as her mother came back into the room with a cool cloth, "Where's Oskar?" Her mother clicked her tongue, placing the cloth on her forehead, dabbing away Natalya's sweat.

"Herr Baumann caught him climbing into Nico's window last night," she smoothed down her daughter's hair, "I asked if he could stay with them for a little while. They understand."

Her mother must've sensed Natalya's worry, because she pressed her lips onto her daughter's cheeks and whispered, "Don't worry. We're a family. He'll be back before you know it."

Natalya held onto that hope, even when he didn't come home.


	5. Invitations.

**IT WAS** a rainy evening, the wind pattering gently upon the window. Natalya watched down below, Eva's room being on the third floor meant she had a full view of their courtyard. The Reinhardt's had a fountain in the middle, with beautiful stones spread all across the lawn.

In short, it was a beautiful home. She only felt a slight pang of jealousy. Natalya drummed her fingers on the window ledge, her eyes scanning the line trees that protected the whole estate.

"Are you even listening?" Eva frowned, throwing a pencil at Natalya's head. The pencil bounced and landed on the floor, rolling under Eva's beautiful wooden desk. There Natalya was again, being envious of the girl who had so kindly let her into her life and her home.

Natalya flinched, turned quickly and stuttered, "Wait, what?" Of course she hadn't been listening. All her best friend could talk about was Adolf Hitler. And talks of Adolf Hitler meant thoughts of Oskar, who had still not come home. She bent down to pick up the pencil, and tossed it back at the girl on the bed.

She missed her brother so much, any mention of the Führer's name would bring a sharp pang in her chest.

"You're not listening again!" Eva exclaimed, having already repeated what she had just said, "What's bothering you so much?" Despite how her best friend could be sometimes, she still knew Natalya through and through.

"Oskar," was her only reply, and Eva's face softened. Extending her arms, Natalya walked over to her bed and gave her a big hug. Eva knew he had run away, that he was staying with the Baumann's. What she didn't know, however, was that he had enlisted. Natalya chose to keep that a secret in case Eva started talking about about Hitler again.

"I'm sorry, Naty," she frowned, holding her friend by the shoulders, "He'll come back around, I'm sure of it." The two girls sat there silently for a moment, appreciating each other's company, and when Natalya looked up, Eva had a smile on her face.

"What was it you were saying?" she asked Eva, her friend's smile widening, glad to be able to talk about the man she was so entranced by as well. Natalya wondered if she genuinely liked him, or was just proud her family knew the Führer.

"He's coming to visit," she grinned, upon seeing Natalya's confused face, she tapped her friend's cheek gently, "Hitler. He's coming next Wednesday. Papa is holding a huge dinner, and he says I can invite you."

"I'm not sure my parents will let me, Eva," she frowned, but really, she was too apprehensive towards the idea of being in the same room as the man who had taken her brother's mind hostage, "I don't have anything to wear either."

"Oh, please," her friend replied, standing up, "I have clothes you can borrow. I'll have papa ring up Herr Stefan to ask if you can sleepover. They don't need to know."

———

Natalya found herself by Eva's bedroom window again, wearing a glittering white dress that touched her knees. Eva had gone through her huge closet to find it, and was so proud to present it to her friend.

"Oh, this old thing?" Eva had said then, pushing the dress into her arms, "Pick up your jaw from the floor and put it on." And Natalya did just that. For once, she looked like she belonged in Eva's house with its too big windows and its never ending staircases.

Looking down at the gathering crowd below, Natalya realised that when Eva had said her dad was putting up a big dinner party, he literally meant it. There were at least 50 people already there, and some were still coming in. She didn't recognise any of them. They were all dressed in clothes Natalya was convinced cost the same price as her house.

"Who are these people?" she asked as Eva entered her room, a red dress adorning her small figure. Eva twirled towards her, marvelling at her own dress, before peeking out her window as well.

"Oh, just papa's friends from out of town," her friend feigned disinterest, "They're boring."

Eva turned away, picking up pearl earrings she wanted to wear, and started talking about all the cute boys she knew were going to be at the party. Natalya didn't hear her, her heart pounding in her ears. Down below, she spotted blond hair and a spray of freckles. "Oskar," she gasped, "Eva, Oskar."

"Why is your brother here?" Eva asked with wide eyes, her mouth agape, "And when did he get cute?" Natalya elbowed her hard.

"Who are they?" she asked as Eva rubbed her arm. Oskar had entered with a handful of other young men.

"Oh, your brother enlisted?" Eva nodded, finally having an answer, "All the young men who enlisted were also invited. Why didn't you tell me?"

Natalya didn't answer, she didn't need to. She was already out the door, running down the stairs to go catch him.

"Oskar," she yelled, her voice going unheard through the crowd. A few people cursed at her as she bumped into them, not focused enough to even apologise. "Oskar!"

He turned to her, and Natalya almost cried. It had been weeks since she last saw him; It had been weeks since he walked out on them, clothes drenched with rain. He looked the same, but his face hardened upon seeing her.

"What are you doing here?" he hissed, grabbing her by the arm and dragging her to a corner where they could speak, "Do Greta and Stefan know you're here?"

 _Greta and Stefan?_ she thought to herself. "You mean mama and papa? Where have you been, Oskar?" she frowned, pulling away from him.

"You still call those fools your parents?" he scoffed, crossing his arms, "And I thought you knew better, Natalya."

His words stung. "I do know better. Our family is everything to me," Natalya gasped, her eyebrows furrowed.

"Then why don't you understand why I'm doing this, then?" he leaned in close, his voice barely above a whisper, "I'm doing this for us." When Natalya didn't respond, he continued. "Look around you, Natalya. Aren't you sick of living in that small house? Why don't we live like this?" he hissed again, gripping onto her arm so hard it ached, "Instead we have beef stew every night, tasting like dust in the back of my throat."

Natalya didn't know what to say, his grip on her arm tightening. "You're hurting me, Oskar," she whimpered, trying to move away, "Please."

A bitter laugh escaped his lips, and Oskar shook his head, turning to leave. "With Hitler, we can live like this, and you'll never have to eat beef stew again." Natalya watched him as he walked away, a heavy feeling sinking in her chest.

Oskar's words echoed in her mind, and throughout the party, she wished she had told him they had roast chicken last night.


	6. The Promise.

**NATALYA LAID** on the couch on her stomach, her feet smacking against each other in the air. The radio was playing some song about lovers dancing under the moonlight, and the house was quiet, the song echoing through its walls. Her mother was doing laundry outside, Natalya could see her hanging up their clothes on a line, always in her floral apron. It was as though everything was okay.

The doorbell rang, breaking her chain of thought. Rushing to the door, Natalya peeked through the peephole. Herr Baumann stood, his hands fidgeting, gripping onto a hat. He always seemed nervous. Natalya giggled to herself before swinging the door open.

"Good morning, Herr Baumann," she greeted with a smile, "Are you looking for papa?"

He crouched down to her level, and ruffled her hair. Luka Baumann was a big man, with a smile so bright it could blind a person. He was the direct opposite of his son, Nico, who always had a frown. Natalya liked to blame him for her brother's rebellion, but she would never say it to the man in front of her.

"Why, yes I am," Herr Baumann smiled, "May I come in?" Natalya nodded and stepped aside, the large man having to crouch a bit to enter through their front door. Just as he stepped inside, her father came out of the office, dark circles under his eyes. Upon seeing the man, his face changed, and Natalya squinted at him.

"Luka," her father grinned, bringing the man into a tight hug, "Is there something you need?" The man turned to Natalya briefly, before nodding towards the office.

"Can we speak privately, Stefan? It's important."

Her father nodded to her, and she took it as a queue to leave. Natalya walked back on the couch, and plopped down on it. She was still watching them, and before her father closed the door, he eyed her and shook his head in warning. He knew her all too well. But he should have known that a warning wouldn't stop her.

Creeping towards the door, Natalya found the soft spot where the wall was thinner and pressed her ear to it. It was as though she was in the room with them.

"What's this about?" she heard her father say, and Natalya heard a chair creak. He had taken a seat, "Please, Luka, sit."

"It's about our sons, Stefan," Herr Baumann paused, perhaps taking a seat as well, "They're shipping out next week."

The room fell silent, and Natalya felt the air rush out of her lungs. She could hear her father sigh, rather loudly in fact, as though he knew she was there listening.

"Luka," he paused, his voice quiet as she strained to hear it, "We're letting our sons do this? What happened to us moving away from it all?" Herr Baumann didn't reply right away, perhaps he was looking for a good answer to give him.

She heard two glasses touch her father's wooden table. Maybe her dad took out a drink. "It's the right thing to do, Stefan. Germany needs young men," was all he replied.

Her father scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "Needs young men? Or needs to shed more blood?" he exclaimed, the glass hitting the wooden table loudly. He was definitely drinking.

"We fought together, Stefan," Herr Baumann said patiently, and Natalya could hear him trying to calm her father down, "You need to let them do this."

"Luka, just tell me what time the train departs," her father sighed, "I don't think there's anything I can do anymore."

That was all Natalya needed to hear.

———

Laying down on her bed, Natalya stared up at the ceiling, her father's words in her head. Was there really nothing they could do to get her brother back?

She heard his office door open, and Natalya rushed to the top of the stairs as quietly as she could, crouching down so she could watch Herr Baumann and her father. They had been locked up in that office for over two hours, and occasionally she could hear their raised voices reminiscing about shared memories they had when they had served Germany.

"Are you sure you don't want to stay for dinner? Greta is cooking something nice," her father smiled, a genuine one this time. A tender hand was on Herr Baumann's shoulder.

"Oh, no," the man replied, putting back on his hat and his coat that he had draped over his arm, "Philippa has probably already prepared dinner, but thank you for the offer." Her father nodded in response and moved to open the door. As the man stepped out, he paused, a hand on the door. "Oh, and Stefan, before I leave," he leaned in closer, eyes darting to the side, "Think about it, okay? They could still use you."

Her father sighed, locking the door behind him. Leaning on the door, he looked up and caught Natalya's eyes. "Were you listening?" he asked, no indication of anger in his voice. Natalya shook her head and he squinted at her suspiciously. She quickly nodded. "Come here," he called, his arms extended for a hug. Natalya bounded down the stairs and into her father's arms, hugging him tightly.

"What did he mean?" she mumbled into his arms, "When he said think about it?"

Her father sighed again, letting go of her and leading her to the living room. Taking a seat on the couch, he patted the space beside him, and Natalya sat, wrapping her arms around her father. "They need veterans from the Great War to help train some new soldiers," he said quietly, rubbing her back gently.

"Are you gonna do it?" she asked, looking up at her father.

"Of course not," he scoffed, kissing her on the top of Natalya's head, "My time with war is done. I'm a full time father now, and I wouldn't trade this job for the world." That calmed her beating heart a bit, and she tightened her arms around him.

"Oskar is leaving, isn't he?" Natalya whispered. It wasn't a question by all means, it was a statement-- something she had to convince herself of. Her father sighed again, pulling away to face her.

"I need you to understand something, Natalya," he said, holding her hands tightly in his, "Your brother is complicated. I understand that he's angry with how we live." Natalya didn't understand that. They had a decent house and food on the table every night. Surely, there were still a lot of things to be grateful for. "Your mother and I are doing our best," he sighed again, rubbing the top of her hand, "Maybe Oskar just needs to find his own way." 

_But why did self-discovery mean leaving your family behind?_ Natalya thought to herself, but instead of responding, she just nodded.

"However," her father paused, eyebrows furrowed in concentration, "I need you to promise something." She nodded eagerly, letting go of his hand and extending her pinky finger towards her father. "If war does happen again, I need you to save your brother. Forget about us."

 _What a strange promise that was,_ she thought to herself, but hooked her pinky with his and promised.

With all her heart, she would do anything to save her brother.


	7. Georgia.

**"NAME," LIEUTENANT** Sobel spat in his face, his breath warm against Joseph Liebgott's skin. Joe had to force himself not to flinch, the man's breath smelled worse than a sour can of tuna fish.

"Liebgott, Joseph D., sir," he replied, staring straight ahead. Lieutenant Herbert Sobel, Easy Company's CO, was the worst man Joe had ever gotten to know, and he did everything in his power not to uppercut the man in the jaw right then and there.

He had enlisted in the Paratroopers to earn extra money to help his parents out. After the Japanese had bombed Pearl Harbor, he dropped everything to serve the country he lived in. Now Joe stood to attention, along with all the men he had been training with that made up Easy Company.

"Rusty bayonet, Liebgott," Sobel breathed, lifting up the bayonet to Joe's face. He still didn't flinch. "You wanna kill Germans?"

"Yes, sir."

Sobel smacked him on the helmet, "Not with this." He quickly walked towards the front, and Floyd Talbert looked back at him sympathetically. All Joe could do was roll his eyes. "I wouldn't take this rusty piece of shit to war," Sobel paused, lifting the bayonet in the air, "And I will not take you in your condition."

Sobel stood in front of all of them, throwing the bayonet on the ground. "Thanks to these men and their infractions," he pointed at no one in particular, "Every man who had a weekend pass has lost it. Change into your PT gear. We're running Currahee." Sobel turned and walked away.

Joe felt all the men's spirits deflate, and Lieutenant Richard Winters commanded, "2nd Platoon, fall out. We have two minutes."

Back in Easy's billet, all the men groaned as they rushed to put on their PT gear. "I ain't going up that hill," Frank Perconte announced, leaning on his knees.

The door swung open and Johnny Martin stepped inside, already dressed, "Perconte, what were you thinking of, blousing your pants?"

"Shut up," Perconte argued, "He gigged everybody." The men stopped briefly to watch them argue, before continuing what they were doing. Joe tightened the string around his waist.

"Yeah, well you should know better. Don't give him no excuses," Johnny bit back, and Joe couldn't lie and say he wasn't excited to see them fight.

"Excuses?" Perconte exclaimed, standing up quickly and pointing at the bottoms of his trousers, "How about you come here, look at these trousers and tell me if there's a crease on them." Joe stifled a laugh.

"Alright, let's go," Sergeant Carwood Lipton clapped his hands, rushing everyone out the door, "On the road, in PT formation. Let's move." Joe couldn't hear the rest of the argument, much to his dismay. He was already out the door and at the front of the line.

As they walked across the camp towards the base of Currahee mountain, Joe heard a man ahead call for them, "Easy Company, while you're running, don't worry. We'll take your dames to the movies."

"Good, they need some female company," Joe bit back, fighting the urge to smile. _Good one,_ he thought to himself, promising to give himself a self-high five later on. The men broke out into a jog, knocking off the hats off of the men who still held their weekend passes.

They ran up Currahee that afternoon, the sun beating down them. "What's that fuckin' smell?" Joe grunted, putting a hand over his nose. He already had the answer for that- They were running 6 miles up and down the mountain. The smell was them.

"What company is this?" Sobel yelled.

"Easy Company," their voices rang out through the trees in response.

"What do we do?"

"We stand alone."

Joe flinched as Donald Hoobler tripped, Donald Malarkey sliding his arm under his for support. Sobel took notice and reprimanded, "Do not help that man! Do not stop!" As they all ran, some limping towards the top, Sobel continued. "You have thirteen minutes to get to the top of this mountain if you want to serve in the paratroopers," he yelled, running sideways to make sure each man didn't stop, "Hi-yo, Silver!"

Making it to the top, Joe slapped the rock they had used as a benchmark, breathing hard, and started his run down. He hated the whole process, but after running almost everyday of the week, eventually, he could do it with his entire pack on.

———

Joe had a problem, and that problem came in the form of Lieutenant Sobel. _The man was a complete nutjob,_ he thought to himself, crouching down to where Shifty, Talbert, Cobb and a few other guys were gossiping. "He screwed up one manuever," one of them hissed with a shake of his head.

"Ya'know, I'm always fumbling with grenades," Joe smirked, rubbing his hands together to keep warm, "It would be easy if one went off by accident."

"They must have put him in charge for a reason," Shifty replied, ever so calm and kind.

To that, Joe scoffed, biting down on his lip, "Because the Army wouldn't make a mistake, right, Shift?" The thing is, the Army did make mistakes, and that mistake could potentially cost their lives once they jumped into war.

As they boarded the train, Edward Tipper, one of Joe's closest friends, smacked him on the back of the head. "I'll bet you $10 we're jumping straight into Japan," Tipper grinned, and Joe scowled at him, "I'll bet you another $10 I'll be the one to shoot Hirohito right in the middle of his stupid forehead."

"Oh please," Joe replied with a roll of his eyes, "You can't even shoot straight. I bet you $10 we're going to Europe."

"Deal."

As they placed down their bags in their compartments, the train jostled to a start, nearly causing Joe to trip. He sat down beside Tipper, who was already wrapping himself with a blanket, his face a ghastly shade of grey. "No," he teased his friend, "Don't tell me you'll get sick."

"I'm not sick," Tipper grumbled, punching him lightly in the arm, "I just hate train rides, okay?" Joe chuckled, punching him back a couple of times, eventually tiring themselves out.

In reality, they were nervous. They had trained for two years, knowing that someday they'd jump through enemy lines, but being on that train meant it was real. They were at war. Joe looked around, at all the faces he had gotten to know in the past 2 years.

George Luz was standing in the aisle, wobbling every now and then with each jolt of the train, making an impression of Eisenhower he had somehow nailed right on the head. Don Malarkey was huddled in a corner with Don Hoobler and Alex Penkala, a stack of cards balanced on one of their suitcases. Hell, Joe even looked at Tipper, who was quietly dozing off beside him.

His heart felt a slight pang of sadness, then a strange feeling of pride settled over him. These were the men he would be fighting with, regardless if Sobel led the jump or not. He knew he'd see it to the end of the war with these men by his side.

That thought helped Joe sleep through the ride.


	8. Fortress Europa.

**JOE STARED** out of the boat, the Statue of Liberty passing him slowly. The sun was setting.

It had taken them nearly a day to fill up the troops onto a boat, and now, standing on the deck, Joe held out his hand to Tipper, who looked uncomfortable in this life jacket. "Goddamn it," Tipper mumbled, handing Joe a $10 bill, "I was hoping you forgot."

"I never forget a bet," Joe grinned, stuffing it into his pocket. He won, of course. They were jumping into Europe.

The boat was a terrible place to be, Joe decided, after a couple of hours bumping shoulders with other men trying to find out where he was meant to sleep. It was impossible to stand up straight without his face sticking to at least 3 other men's butts. Luckily, Joe would be sleeping above another man, and that meant he had more space for his arms.

Joe sat, his legs dangling over a thick cloth that served as his bed, a cigarette between his teeth. Bill Guarnere, Joe Toye, and a couple of other guys were talking about Lieutenant Sobel. Hell, all they ever talked about these days were Sobel, and for a good reason too: The man was an idiot on the field.

"I like Winters. He's a good man, but when bullets fly," Bill grunted, taking his cigarette out of his mouth, "I don't know if I want a Quaker doing my fighting for me."

"How do you know he's a Quaker?" Gordon asked, staring at the bed above him.

"He ain't Catholic," he replied, flicking his cigarette away.

"Neither is Sobel," Malarkey chipped in behind Bill, laying on his stomach with a magazine open in front of him.

Bill derided at that, standing up to light himself a new one, "That prick's a son of Abraham."

His words rung in Joe's ears. He couldn't believe Bill, a man he considered his friend, would say that. "He's what?" he asked defensively, turning his head towards all the men.

"He's a Jew," Bill said nonchalantly, sticking another cigarette in his mouth, bringing a lighter up.

"Fuck," Joe shook his head, tossing his cigarette down and jumping off his bed. He stood in front of Bill, staring him down. "I'm a Jew," he breathed in the man's face. His head was clouded with anger.

"Congratulations," Bill grinned sarcastically, pushing Joe away with a hand, "Get your nose out of my face."

That was the last straw. Joe let out a bitter laugh, turned away slightly, and swung his arm at the shorter man. Bill was stocky, weighed so much more than Joe did, but he didn't have what Joe had-- Unhinged anger, and a $10 bill in his pocket giving him all the guts he needed. Joe always won.

However, the other men didn't get the message. Bill fought back instantly, blocking his punch and instantly swinging back, and Joe felt arms wrap around his body, pulling him away, but still he fought. He weighed a mere 120 pounds, and yet, with three men pulling him back, he used all his energy to push forward.

It took seven men to pull them apart, and they carried Joe all the way across the room.

He now sat on Tipper's bed, lost in thought. "You okay?" Tipper asked, handing him a canteen of water.

"I'm fine," Joe grumbled, snatching it away from him and taking a sip, "You heard what that fucker said didn't you?"

Tipper laughed, sitting down beside him. "You never told us you were Jewish," he replied, grabbing his canteen back.

"And so the fuck what?" Joe exclaimed, his voice defensive. Tipper just laughed, already used to him, and knew full well his friend would never fight him, "Doesn't matter if I'm a Jew or not. Who says shit like that?"

The man beside him didn't reply, taking a deep breath. "Some people are just dumb," he finally replied, a stupid grin on his face. The two sat in silence for a while, occasionally handing each other a drink from Tipper's canteen.

"Yeah," Joe agreed, hitting him on the arm, "A lot like you, Tip." His friend laughed, and although the room was noisy, Joe could hear him clearly.

Joe appreciated that from his friend. Edward Tipper was a great guy, always said the wrong thing, and never apologised for any of it. Joe needed someone equally unapologetically himself. The two bonded throughout training, bantering between themselves and eventually, earning each other's trust.

Tipper bumped his knee on his, seeing that Joe was a lot calmer than he was earlier, and grinned at him. "Feelin' better?" he asked.

"Yeah," he stood, slapping his friend on the shoulder, "Thanks, Tip." Tipper nodded, tipping an invisible hat at his friend and stretched out his legs.

"Thank God," he laughed, "I was waiting for you to leave. Could use some sleep."

That was a good idea. Joe needed some sleep.

———

"Parry right! Parry left! Front!"

The commands rang in Joe's ears as he stabbed his bayonet forward. They had spent 2 weeks on the troop ship, eventually finding themselves in Aldbourne, England. It was a small town, all the buildings looking like the stuff they would mention in fairytales.

At first Joe liked it. It was quiet, cold, and on weekends, they would all go to the bars and drink as much as they liked. However, a few months later, Joe realised something. He hadn't seen a lady their age in forever. Now he hated Aldbourne.

Most days, they trained. After all, they were paratroopers- And paratroopers went through entirely different training processes than the rest of the army. Unlike other soldiers who fought the enemy head first, Joe understood that they would fall from above into enemy lines, taking them by surprise.

Other days, they were all seated wherever there was free space, memorising all the details necessary for their jump. Joe would look beside him and see Skinny Sisk trying his best to stay awake, and Tipper with his eyebrows all furrowed trying to understand what's going on. Joe always had to retell all the details to the two of them after- They weren't dumb, they just hated paying attention. Hell, they were young, just past their teen years, thrust into a war that no one could possibly be prepared for.

"Joe," Skinny called after training had ended, slapping him on the back of the shoulder, "We have a whole night off, wanna go out?"

"Depends," Joe replied, taking off his hat, "Who's goin'?"

Skinny shrugged, mimicking his actions. "Me, Tip, Shifty. You, hopefully," he grinned, knowing full well Joe wouldn't say no to a night out, "Whoever wants to go, I guess."

When Skinny had said whoever wanted to go, he definitely meant the entire company. The pub was filled to the brim with Easy Men, and laughter filled the air that evening. Joe wasn't too fond of drinking, but it was a day to celebrate, like all days off were.

Taking a sip from his mug, he picked up a couple of biscuits and stuffed his face. Tipper and Shifty were seated with him, in deep conversation about something. "What are y'all saying?" Joe asked, leaning forward on his chair.

Tipper pointed a thumb at Skinny, who was busy locking lips with probably the only young woman in the entire town. "How does he do that?" he asked incredulously, but also in complete awe.

Joe laughed; Moments like these he realised how young they really were. "He isn't dumb like you, Tip," he smiled with a shake of his head. Shifty didn't disagree, but instead laughed into his mug of beer.

"I don't see you with a girl, Joe," Tipper argued, "Shifty, help me with this one."

Joe clicked his tongue, waving his friend off. "He won't, right Shift? 'Cus our good friend Shifty here knows I can get any girl I want. I just don't want to."

Shifty shrugged at Tipper before looking around. "Look at all the other broads here, Tip. Tell me which ones your favourite."

The young man looked around, Joe and Shifty stifling their laughter. The pub was filled with Easy Men, and a handful of older women with their husbands or their friends.

"Aw," Tipper frowned, crossing his arms in front of him, "Half of them look like my 'ma."

The table burst into laughter, throwing biscuits at each other until Sergeant Martin came over and asked them to stop making such a mess. 


	9. D-Day.

"That airsick pill is making me kinda loopy," Joe mumbled, hugging his pack in front of him. After a few months in England, the day of the invasion had finally arrived. One of Easy's medics, Eugene Roe, had handed out air sickness pills they would have to take before and during the flight. Joe had taken one, as did all the other men, prior to boarding their plane.

Now his head was swirling, his eyes threatening to close the minute the engine started. The other men on his plane were still talking and laughing about something, trying their best to calm their nerves, when he finally knocked out.

When he opened his eyes again, it was no longer bright and sunny, no more golden rays shining through the open plane door. Joe looked around.

On his left, 3 other men were knocked out. He spotted Skinny at the other end of the plane, and his friend gave him a wink and a stupid grin. Even at the eve of dropping into enemy lines, Skinny still had that smirk on his face. Tipper was across from him, seemingly dozing off, but Joe saw him twitch every now and again. It reminded Joe of his puppy when he was a kid– always having nightmares and twitching in his sleep.

Joe turned away, looking straight ahead out the open door. He was seated near the front and could see the ocean down below. Joe rubbed his eyes in disbelief. There were at least a thousand boats down there, and a thousand more planes flying right beside them. He memorised the details by heart, but seeing it all come together in front of him still filled his heart with awe and amazement.

The Nazis had no clue what was about to hit them.

What felt like a few moments later, down below there was no longer sea but dark fields of grass, they had reached France. Joe heard it first– a bomb going off up above, then a sputtering engine. He saw it second– The light flashed green, a barrage of bullets burning holes into the side of their plane. Joe ducked, covering his head.

"Get ready," the men were commanded; stumbling, he managed to get on his feet. The plane trembled wildly in the air, tossing a couple of men to the floor. He couldn't hear what was being said, but knew what he had to do.

"Hook up," they were commanded, and each one of them hooked their clips onto a wire that would eventually pull their parachutes out, "Sound off for equipment check!"

The numbers rang in his ear, barely registering in his mind until he felt Tipper smack his back twice. "Four okay!" Joe managed to scream out, his eyes trying so hard to focus on the green light that now flickered beside the door.

Before he knew it, he was staring down below. Lights flashed on the ground, only now realising how high up they were. It reminded him of training, when hesitation meant they would lose their jumpwings. Joe never hesitated, jumping without a single glance at the ground, elated by the feeling of the wind in his ears. It was different now. For a second, Joe hesitated.

A second later, he was in the air, gripping onto the ropes of his parachute tightly. Joe couldn't see anything, just felt the bullets whizzing past him, and the wind carrying him further away.

As he neared the ground, he thought of his home, San Francisco.

His sisters were probably awake now, it was morning back at home. His mother would be doing the dishes from the night before, breakfast already on the dining table. His dad would be on the porch, a newspaper open on his lap. Everything was probably still the same back home, while Joe was flying through the air, praying to whoever listened that he would live to have breakfast with his family again.

Joe pulled on the ropes, maneuvering himself towards what he thought was a taller patch of grass, surrounded by trees. He hit the ground, turning his body over to spread out the impact of his landing, and cut the ropes from his parachute right away. He didn't care to pack it up, and left it in the grass. Checking around him, he pat himself down quickly, his dark eyes darting around.

He was alone. On the plane, he didn't realise the reality of his situation. They were all together, and anything that could happen, they would still be together. Now, crouching behind unruly blades of tall grass, Joe realised how alone he was, accompanied only by the sound of gunfire from nearby.

Nearby. Joe's ears twitched, and he got down on his stomach, dragging his stuff with him until he rolled behind a hedge. He couldn't see anything, the only light coming from a burning tree over a mile away.

Peeking from his hidden position, he watched a group of Nazi soldiers pause and crouch down where he landed. Joe's breath hitched, and he looked down to make sure he had everything. His canteen. One of the men picked his canteen up, looked around, a grin on his face. Dehydration was a soldier's worst enemy, they had said during one of the briefings.

The group slowly made their way towards his position, and Joe gripped his M1 in his hands. He realised he was shaking, but he steadied himself, screwing on his bayonet as silently as he could.

Their footsteps stopped. Followed by rapid gunfire, causing Joe to flinch. He looked up slowly, peeking over the hedge once again. They had their backs to him, their guns at their side. _"Dummer Amerikaner,"_ one of them laughed, beginning to walk away, _"Könnte einem Drink nicht widerstehen."_ _Couldn't resist a drink?_ Joe thought to himself.

He waited till he couldn't hear their footsteps before crawling to where they stood. Checking to see no one was around, he stood slowly, keeping his head low. In front of him lay another soldier, a Paratrooper he had seen at training but never spoken to. They thought it was his canteen.

Joe mumbled a quiet apology, before taking some supplies off the man, anything he could possibly need until he could find Easy. Laying a hand on the man's face, he closed the man's eyes. The name on his shirt said Dwight.

Dwight was unfortunate enough to have saved Joe. He wouldn't forget that.

———

Joe had walked for hours, occasionally having to duck and hide from groups of Nazi soldiers who were busy trying to figure out where all the paratroopers like him had gone down. He was thirsty. The soldiers who had shot Dwight had taken his canteen with them, and it took all of his power not to drink from the stream he was following.

He heard three clicks to his left, and crouched, his finger already on the trigger. "Flash," a voice called out.

"Thunder," Joe breathed a sigh of relief, and couldn't help but grin when he spotted Roderick Strohl, Shifty and two other men he didn't recognise, followed right behind him.

"Is that you, Lieb?" Shifty grinned, smacking him on the back of the neck, "Goddamn am I glad to see you. Where've you been?"

He pointed a thumb right behind him, shrugging. "Landed somewhere there. Been following this stream since then. Any of you got any water?"

Rod uncapped his canteen, handing it to the man. "What happened to yours?" he asked as Joe took big gulps, "You pissed everything out already."

"Some Germans got it," he chuckled, but he still remembered how it felt behind the hedge, "Any of you know a Dwight?" The men looked at each other and shook their heads. Before they could ask why, Joe waved them off, "Forget about it. Where we headed?"

The sun was about to rise, and they would no longer be blanketed by the dark. They needed to find a good place for cover. They trudged through the grass as quietly as they could, the only sound coming from their laboured breaths. Rod held up a hand, and they once again crouched, their helmets peeking up from behind the trees.

A group of Nazi soldiers were seated by a campfire, their guns tossed to the side. They were talking about something Joe's ears couldn't hear- His eyes were too focused on his canteen by their side. He managed to catch up to the men who had killed Dwight thinking it was him.

Rod brought a finger to his lips, calling for Shifty. Shifty never missed a shot. Lifting their M1s, Joe aimed for the man closest to his canteen. He fired.

The man dropped to the ground, and more shots rang out before they could even pick up their rifles. Soon they were all face down, the fire sputtering between them.

The group waited a few moments to make sure no one came out of hiding, and one of the men, Taylor, stood to go over there. "This your canteen?" he asked Joe, who was following right behind him.

"That sure is, Buck," he mumbled a thanks and leaned down beside the man who was holding it. Turning the body around, Joe looked at the face of the first man he had ever killed. He expected to feel remorse, but these men had laughed off Dwight's death. Joe felt nothing.

Swallowing hard, he went through the Nazi soldier's bag, taking out a red flag.

"Damn," Shifty gasped, standing up, "I'll do anything to get me one of those."

Joe smirked at him, though it never reached his eyes. "Yeah? Kill Hitler," he joked.

"Just tell me where he is and have him stand by a window," Strohl grinned, taking souvenirs of his own, "Shifty would have this war over in less than a minute."

Shifty cast his eyes down towards the souvenirs he had gotten from one of the fallen Germans.

"He definitely would, Rod," Joe mumbled, walking back towards the stream to continue their search for Easy.


	10. Brécourt.

**THE GROUP** was greeted by a goofy grin the minute they found Easy. Tipper stood upon seeing his friends, nearly tripping on his feet, and jogged towards Joe and Shifty. For a minute he stood in front of them, a smile wide on his face, and he quickly tackled them, hugging them tightly.

"What took you guys so long?" he grinned, and Joe huffed in mock annoyance, pushing him off of him. Joe wasn't actually annoyed, not in the slightest. His friend, so good-hearted, didn't mind being pushed off at all.

"We jump off flying planes, Tip," Joe replied sarcastically, taking his helmet off of his head, "I had to walk here from Paris til I bumped into this fool." Shifty let out a laugh, smacking Joe in the chest then walked towards where everyone else was seated, around the base of a statue.

"Y'all hungry?" Tipper asked, heading over to get them some food.

Shifty put his bag down on one of the steps, wiggling around a little to find a comfortable spot. Joe plopped down next to him, bumping shoulders with Frank Perconte. "Fuck, Lieb," he grunted, scooting a bit to the side, "For someone so skinny, you take up a whole lot of space."

"Speakin' of Skinny," Joe started, looking around, "Where is he?"

"He'll be here soon," Tipper was the one who replied, handing Shifty a canteen filled with warm stew, "He's just lost." Joe nodded twice, forcing a smile onto his face. His friend sounded unconvinced.

Tipper waved a canteen in front of Joe's face, but he wasn't hungry. Shaking his head, Tipper shrugged and started eating instead. Joe laid down, put an arm over his head and closed his eyes. It'd be the first time he'd slept since he woke up on the plane.

———

"There are some Kraut 88s up ahead," Lieutenant Winters explained, drawing a map on a small sheet of paper, "Up ahead and to the right, about, what, 300 yards?" He drew lines and X's on the paper, showing the location of where the machine guns were believed to be.

The Nazi soldiers were between them and Causeway Number Two, causing trouble for the soldiers landing in Utah Beach. "Major Strayer wants us to take them out," he continued, showing the men where each of them will be stationed.

The objective was to destroy the machine guns by establishing a base of fire and moving under it as fast as they could. "Liebgott, you'll take the first machine gun with Petty, A gunner," Lieutenant Winters commanded, designating each man's job. Joe turned to Cleveland Petty, a young man he had never spoken to and nodded.

"Understood?"

"Yes, sir," they all said in unison, and prepared to move out.

———

The men ran past a farm, their heads ducked down, and with them only their weapons, ammo, and their musette bags. Joe watched as Lieutenant Winters crouched behind an abandoned car, looking out towards the enemy. Across the field were around 7 soldiers, accompanied with a single cannon. There were at least 3 cannons in total.

"Petty, we've got escalating fire," Lieutenant Winters said, directing the man towards his position, Joe at his heels. They spotted the enemy's MG-42s, and their task was to provide covering fire for Buck Compton, Guarnere, and Joe Toye, who were going to scramble to get the first gun.

With a single signal from Lieutenant Winters, Joe fired the first shots, taking the Germans by surprise. Crouched down under a bush, he and Petty rapidly fired at the enemy, distracting them long enough for the other three to jump into the German trenches and secure the first gun.

The sound of gunfire echoed in his ears, followed by a high-pitched ringing that made Joe's teeth chatter in his skull. His eyes seemed to have focused and unfocused all throughout the fight, because as soon as they saw Buck wave a hand at them, he and Petty were up again, running towards their next position.

Joe took out the gun slung around his arm, crouched down behind the German's first cannon, and aimed it towards the second machine gun. "Keep your head low, Petty," he yelled over the sound of gunfire, smacking the man who had slowed down beside him, "Have a little suppress in fire, why don't you?" Lorraine, Petty, and Guarnere were propped up against the sandbags, distracting the enemy from another group of three who were going to take over the second cannon.

Malarkey leaned against one of the sandbags, taking a deep breath. "I think one of those dead Krauts has got a Luger," he whispered.

"Yeah, so what?" Bill asked, just as Malarkey jumped out of their position and ran towards the dead Nazi soldiers laying on the field.

The enemies stopped hammering their position, and Joe stared in disbelief. "Now you stop firing?" he exclaimed, pulling his finger away from the trigger, "Beautiful!"

His friend was on his stomach, searching the corpses for any sign of the German pistol he had promised his younger brother. Joe heard him yell at a curse, before standing up as quickly as he could.

"They must think he's a medic or something," Lorraine said, bewildered. Joe tightened his jaw.

"He's gonna need a goddamn medic," Bill bit back once the Germans realised Malarkey wasn't.

Malarkey scrambled on his feet, tripping and sliding across the grass. "Malarkey, get low!" Joe yelled at him, "What the hell are you doing?"

Malarkey managed to get back to them, Bill pulling him by the shirt back behind them. "Forgot your freakin' Luger?" he asked, pointing his gun and shooting at the enemy once more, "You want I go get it for you, ya stupid mick?"

They continued firing at the enemy, Winters appearing behind them looking for Lipton and the TNT for the first cannon. Hall and Ranney fell back behind Joe, leaning back down on the sandbags, gripping onto their helmets.

"Hiya cowboy," Bill bit sarcastically at Hall, who he had been picking on all day.

Hall's face darkened, and he hissed, "Shut your fucking Guinea trap, Gonorrhea." Despite the sound of rapid gunfire in his ears, Joe could hear Bill laugh.

"I need ammo, sir, lots of it," Winters repeated again, Lipton still nowhere to be seen, "And TNT."

"I've got TNT, sir." Hall yelled back, searching through his pack, "I don't have any way to set it off, sir." He handed it to Lieutenant Winters, who shoved it down the vent of the first cannon, shoving a German hand grenade he had found beside him along with it, setting the TNT off.

"Fire in the hole!" Lieutenant Winters yelled, jumping onto his stomach, and all the men covered their ears as the first cannon's vent exploded.

Lieutenant Speirs appeared behind them, with rounds of ammo slung across his shoulder. He handed it to Winters who then spread it amongst them, and Joe supplied it to Petty who was once again manning a machine gun. He looked to the right, his eyes wide. Lieutenant Speirs had run towards the third gun, Dog Company right behind him.

Jumping out of the trench, he dodged a shower of bullets, stopping right at the entrance of the enemy's position. A grenade flew through the air, landing at Lieutenant Speirs' feet, and went off, throwing him back.

"Shit," Joe cursed, going back to helping Petty provide a base of fire. He believed Lieutenant Speirs was most definitely dead, when the man suddenly appeared again, waving his arm to signal they had successfully secured the third gun.

"Fall back to your original positions," Lieutenant Winters commanded, yelling in Joe's ear, and he picked up the rounds of ammo in front of him.

Firing a few more shots towards the enemy, taking down a couple more, the men crouched down and left as quietly as they came.

They had successfully disabled 3 cannons, taking down at least 20 Nazi soldiers. Joe didn't know it then, but he would receive a Bronze Star for the assault they had done on Brécourt Manor.

———

2nd Battalion, including Easy, managed to secure the small town of Sainte-Marie-du-Monte, opening up Utah beach for the delivery of both men and artillery. The men were given an hour to rest up and eat before they would eventually have to go down south towards the town of Courville.

Joe was seated in the back of a truck, his legs propped up on the seat in front of him. Toye sat on his right, and Compton and Malarkey were cooking up something for them to eat. Bill was at the far end, smoking a cigarette.

"I'm gonna die in the back of this truck," Joe grunted, flicking away his cigarette and standing up to leave. It was way too stuffed and smelly in there, and he needed the fresh air.

"You're stepping on my legs," Malarkey complained, hitting him on the butt with the spoon they had used to cook the stew.

Joe stumbled, nearly falling over trying to climb out the truck. "Jesus, let me out of here," he gasped, pushing away the flap and gulping in the cool air. Dropping to the ground, Joe pulled out another cigarette from his pocket, bringing a lighter to his lips.

The flame sputtered twice, and Joe cursed, trying to get it to light. "Need help?" a voice said behind him, and Joe quickly turned to see Skinny, his signature smile on his face. His friend walked up to him, taking out his lighter and lighting Joe's cigarette for him.

"Where the hell have you been, you bastard?" Joe frowned, but he couldn't hide the smile growing on his face. They wouldn't admit it, but they were all worried, "Tipper nearly peed himself waiting for you."

"Yeah, just saw him, actually. His whole face lit up," Skinny grinned, obviously pleased that his absence bothered his friends so much, "Well, I bumped into some lovely French ladies who wouldn't let me leave." Joe knew he was joking– The tired look in Skinny's eyes said enough about where he had been. They were in Normandy after all.

They watched as bombs went off across the river, the night sky illuminated by flashes of light. Despite knowing what was happening, despite it being war, Joe had to admit it was kind of beautiful.

"I'm glad you're here, Wayne," Joe mumbled, patting his friend on the shoulder.


End file.
